CHAPTER 29
Ellana was in Cassandra's kitchen, chopping a pile of mushrooms. Her hands felt automated. Fenris was standing next to her, stirring a pot of simmering bolognese sauce. Feeling faint, she put the large knife she was clenching down on the cutting board, resting against the edge of the granite counter.
"La, are you alright?" Fenris asked, looking up from the saucepan with a concerned expression on his face.
That was a question Ellana was also considering. Ever since the dream of Haven, she had a residual headache. Now, whenever she closed her eyes, she felt a ringing in her ears that sounded like a song. Whatever had brought Solas and her together in the dream had triggered something ancient and forgotten in her magic.
Fenris placed the lid on the pan with a loud crash, coming to stand next to Ellana and wrapping his arms around her. She sunk into his embrace. Fenris was not one to openly talk, but she knew he was worried about her. He had actively fussed over her since arriving at her doorstep with an oversized rucksack attached to the back of his motorcycle—an unusual behavior for the taciturn artist.
Why was she still having the dream? Ellana asked herself again.
Every night she found herself repeatedly walking in a meadow outside one of the ruins from her book. The temple she had called it. When she had dreamed in the site while doing field research, she saw spirits donning halla antler headdresses flickering along the edges of her vision. The otherwordly gathering performed an ancient dance walking in a slow circle around marks made along the ground with what appeared to be salt or chalk. Now she was pulled back there, one spirit staring at her from the sidelines, beckoning her over.
Ellana knew better. She was not a trained mage, nor was she interested in becoming one. The dusty esoteric rituals and alchemical formulas had never appealed to her. "Don't talk to spirits," was a universally understood rule, however, by any magic-user. Although there were very few mages strong enough to cross over to the Fade every night, possession wasn't an unheard of situation.
Undoubtedly, the dream and the headache were coincidental? Ellana resolved to dwell on the issue at a later time. She was, after all, at a dinner party. With a sigh, she sunk into Fenris' arms as he firmly pressed her to his firm chest.
Ellana did her best to focus on the present. In the next room, she could hear the laughter of Bull and Gaylen playing a card game with Dorian. Cassandra was sitting at the small square table in her kitchen, hand-rolling pasta. The air was thick with the smell of garlic. Focusing on the sensation grounded her.
The headache was probably just stress, Ellana thought to herself. Nothing sinister.
"I hope you both remember to rewash your hands after such unseemly displays in my kitchen," Cassandra bossed from the chair.
Ellana chucked as Fenris saluted the Nevarran prosecutor.
"I can finish the rest," Fenris offered. "Why don't you go relax?"
"What he is saying is you are a terrible cook," Cassandra said with her usual blunt confidence. "So stop being polite and go drink wine."
"Yes, ma'am," Ellana laughed, untying her borrowed apron and hanging it on one of the kitchen chairs. She had at least progressed in her cooking skills enough not to be outright banned by Cassandra and Fenris in kitchen prep, but she was not a talented sous chef. Fenris had already recut half her vegetables.
Walking into the living room, she saw Gaylen and Bull absorbed in their game, moving little plastic game pieces over an intricate map of Thedas. The two barely noticed when Dorian threw down his cards and walked over to the living room.
Dorian was more than happy to move over to the couch. "I'm so glad you were thrown out of the kitchen. I couldn't follow the game, so I was handing out reward cards."
Ellana poured herself a glass of wine before plopping down next to him on the couch, resting her head against the mage's arm.
"So…" Dorian whispered, 'Are you and Fenris...an item?"
"I don't know," Ellana replied honestly.
That morning, Fenris was distressed to discover how little Ellana had seen Val Royeaux. He insisted the pair spend the afternoon as the Museum of Modern Art despite her protests that she had too much work to do. "Besides," Fenris had argued "You met Varathorn at the commune and talked with him for hours about ironbark. We should see his retrospective." She was surprised when on the train ride over, Fenris put his arm around her, and later when he had caught her hand in the winding hallways, squeezing it when she looked back at him with uncertainty.
"I think you might be the only one that is unsure." Dorian evaluated somberly. "Why didn't you mention him before?
"Oh, I would have," Ellana shrugged. "We were together for a few years, but I thought it was over. After all the absurd things that happened since I moved here, I called Fenris. He came. I didn't think we had any lingering romantic attachments, but I might have judged the situation a bit incorrectly."
Ellana had forgotten how much she had missed the roguish artist. The trip to the museum reminded Ellana of what attracted her to Fenris in the first place. She never tired listening to his deep voice grow electric when he talked about a painting or sculpture he admired.
"That is clear from the way he looks at you." Dorian appraised, sipping his wine with a smug smile on his. "It makes me think of a mutual acquaintance of ours."
"We ran into Solas at the museum earlier this afternoon," Ellana announced in a sudden, dramatic whisper. She had been waiting to find Dorian alone to update him on the encounter.
Dorian choked on his wine.
"You have the worst luck."
"Ugh, you don't have to tell me."
Ellana winced a bit, recalling the mournful expression Solas had flashed her when he saw her and Fenris together. It made the heartbreak between them fresh.
"What happened?"
"Everyone was uncomfortable but Fenris. He introduced himself to Solas, at first unknowingly, and then pointed out that he knew exactly who Solas was. I said nothing, as Solas politely excused himself, staring at him like an idiot. I've never seen someone walk out of a museum exhibition so quickly."
"Of course, Fenris was cool," Dorian said, refiling her glass even though she hadn't quite finished. "He won. Poor Solas, it seemed as though the two of you were getting along so well. I'm still not quite sure how he bungled it so badly."
"He was not forthright about the review-wouldn't tell me how he wrote it," Ellana shrugged again. As ungenerous as it was, part of her suspected that if Solas had been honest that he and Cassandra would be working together in the kitchen right now.
"Something is off with him," Dorian said. "I know I've said that before, but I also don't know if I should be lamenting the untimely end of you and Solas; Fenris seems fantastic. I know his work-he's prolific-and-."
"Yes, he's a very successful artist. One of the most well-known contemporary photographers, but he lives on an artist commune with no indoor plumbing."
"Does that bother you?" Dorian asked with an arched eyebrow. "I've never thought you materialistic in that way. Clothes-maybe."
Ellana laughed at the good-natured jab. The two had bonded over their wardrobes. That evening the Tevinter artist was wearing a distressed white button-down with a pair of jacquard pants. As far as Ellana was concerned, the interest wasn't superficial, more about a critical relationship to culture. Or at least that's how she justified her thrifting habits.
"Mostly, I like working, and teaching art history is a bit of a big city-type profession. Fenris has to be in nature. He needs a very specific type of environment to make work. I don't know where we'd be able to live in the event things grew more serious…"
She didn't tell Dorian about the trauma that Fenris carried with him. An orphan, Fenris had been adopted by a Tevinter magister. The mage had experimented on Fenris, injecting lyrium into his skin to see if he could make the elf into a mage. Nature helped to minimize the mental and physical distress Fenris experienced as a result.
It wasn't that Ellana didn't trust Dorian to understand. It was Fenris' story to tell, not hers.
"Ah, those things are difficult to work out," Dorian said. He glanced over at Bull. Ellana knew that their early love story had been rife with turmoil. Unbeknownst to Dorian Bull had still been working spy jobs on the sly. That is until Bull was shot in the chest in the line of duty.
"Even if we have a tangled past, I'm grateful Fenris came to stay with me for a while."
"Seems like you needed a little distraction. I think, if those looks Fenris has been shooting your way when he thinks no one sees him, you're going to get laid at the very least."
"Dorian!" Ellana cried, shaking her head.
"What? I'm an old married man. Single people drama is a sport I thrive on!" Dorian teased.
The conversation was interrupted by a pleased Cassandra announcing that dinner was ready. Bull and Gaylen groaned at having to put their game aside. The group indulged the two with the painstaking chore of transporting the game boards and pieces to the living room floor so the two could resume the perplexing strategy game after dinner.
Ellana spotted Fenris' gaze in her direction. His eyes followed to the line of her jaw and then her clavicle as she laughed at a story Bull was telling. After they said their goodbyes and accepted a hearty serving of leftovers, it didn't' surprise her when Fenris took her hand again on the walk to the train. The air was cold and biting, a winter wind hitting Ellana full force, making her shiver on the open-air platform. A situation, Fenris remedied by clutching her tightly to his warm body.
Halfway through the train ride, the two were practically on each other's laps, her hand resting Fenris' upper thigh, as he pressed his cheek into her hair, inhaling her perfume. Somehow, they managed to restrain themselves until they were in her apartment. She had hung up her coat, and threw her keys to the catch-all on her desk, when Fenris gently took her by the waist, his thumbs kneading into her skin. Ellana swung around, standing on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on his hungry lips.
It was hard for Ellana not to compare the touch to her recent encounter with Solas. His touch had pulsated with yearning. Fenris' did too, only differently. The familiar sounds that Fenris made when she increased the passion of her kisses were so comforting as was the groan he made when she wrapped her legs around him, for him to carry her over the short distance to the bed.
"La, is this?" He asked with a troubled appearance as he gently set her down in the center of the bed.
"I missed you, Fen." Was all Ellana could manage to say in response, pulling him to her. A perfunctory tumble, after all, did not necessitate a relationship to follow. It would have been unreasonable, even, to expect that they wouldn't fall into this particular habit at some point.
He still tasted like mint from all the effort he made to cover up his smoking. Ellana found she still liked the taste. She craved Fenris' body as he carefully aligned his hips to her own, knowing exactly when to rub up against her to elicit a moan. He was warm and muscular, his passionate kisses trailing over the soft parts of her neck as he unlaced her shirt.
Without fail, it impressed her how Fenris never fumbled even with her more ornate clothes. He seemed to have an intuitive sense of how to get her naked in a way that was not too efficient, nor too prolonged. When he exposed the delicate bralette that she wore, an intricate sheer black number that barely offered any support, he paused to admire her while she slipped her hands underneath his sweatshirt, tossing it to the floor.
The magic rose to her skin, like a wave. It was always this way for mages, their mana bubbling over when they were angry or excited. In other situations, she tried not to cast spells around Fenris. When she did, it activated the lyrium markings. In these intimate moments, however, it was impossible not to allow some residual mana into the air. The two had gotten used to it. Usually, Fenris described the perception as a slight, bearable sting.
"La," Fenris cried, anguish flashing on his face as their skin met. "I c-can't." He was clutching at his chest as if it were on fire.
"What's happening?" She said, instinctively reaching towards Fenris to comfort him. "Is it?"
"Please, not yet," Fenris said, putting his hands up. "It's your magic."
Ellana was miserable watching Fenris slide out of bed, shaking his shoulders as he crumpled onto the floor. She could feel her magic grow stormy and evaporate. She kneeled a safe distance away. The agony was etched into the frown on his face. For a short time, she helplessly watched as Fenris lay on the floor, counting his breaths to control his breathing.
When the heaving calmed, she repeated his name, sighing with relief when he gestured for her to lay next to him on the floor. She turned to stare at him, searching his expression for clues as to what happened.
"This isn't your fault," Fenris said, tracing her lips with his fingers. He enunciated each word slowly to reassure her. "It's not something you are actively doing."
Ellana was surprised at his assessment. They had argued over several similar situations before given how much her magic tended to scare Fenris "Are you OK?" Really she wanted to ask, are we OK?
"I thought I wasn't used to your magic anymore," Fenris continued. "It's-changed. I can sense it even now in the lyrium markings. It's more powerful. Ellana, what is going on?"